


hell is hot from your mistakes

by Atlasfreak



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Afterlife, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dream Smp, Emotional Manipulation, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Major Character Undeath, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft logic, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Pig Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Brute Technoblade, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin TommyInnit, Protective Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Reincarnation, Resurrection, Sad Sam | Awesamdude, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), The Nether (Minecraft), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Unsympathetic Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Violence, Warden Sam | Awesamdude, Wilbro, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Not Insane, and respawning ig, f dream's cat, hell is hot from your mistakes, its gonna be fun chat, like inventories?, now anyway, rest in peace pussboy, tommy dies, tommy is traumatised, wilbur is a good brother, wilbur's still a bit fucked up but dont lose hope on him here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlasfreak/pseuds/Atlasfreak
Summary: The afterlife is a mess of time and space.Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death.Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, tommyinnit & Dream | Clay
Comments: 146
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS ACTUALLY A FIC IM HELLA EXCITED FOR CHAT  
> LIKE I THOUGHT OF THE IDEA AND WENT "OH OH OH"  
> YEAHHHHH  
> IM NERVOUS BOUT IT BUT PRAY IT PAYS OFF LETS GO
> 
> ANYWAY  
> WARNINGS FOR VIOLENCE, BLOOD, ANIMAL DEATH, CHARACTER DEATH... nothing TOO graphic idt but uh. idk be careful chat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS ACTUALLY A FIC IM HELLA EXCITED FOR CHAT  
> LIKE I THOUGHT OF THE IDEA AND WENT "OH OH OH"  
> YEAHHHHH  
> IM NERVOUS BOUT IT BUT PRAY IT PAYS OFF LETS GO
> 
> ANYWAY  
> WARNINGS FOR VIOLENCE, BLOOD, ANIMAL DEATH, CHARACTER DEATH... nothing TOO graphic but uh. idk be careful chat!

Dream has the book and he's at work.

He's surrounded by blood, and corpses. Bodies. His hands are stained red and so is the face of the boy beside him and the fur of the cat in front of him. He's drawn a circle out of the red and the cat lays, set to look sleeping, in the center.

He's missing his mask - it's broken, shattered. The sharp porcelain edges are red, too, cut on the soft skin of his dead cat to draw his ring of blood. Cut on his fingers, too, as he had aligned the shards to smile up at him. 

Dream stands and opens the book. It's akin to an inventory; incorporeal pages that the warden can't take away. He reads quietly and he checks his preparations and he double checks it and he triple checks it and then he glances over the translucent pages and-

And yet, the cat's corpse is still.

He waits longer. Waits for the cat to blink open its eyes, jump back to its feet. Waits for it to meow and rub against his legs.

But it stays limp and cold and lifeless.

The same as it has been for the past six tries.

Dream slams his fists on the ground, snarls. "Work! Fucking work! _WORK!_ Bring it back!"

He's furious.

He did everything the book said, everything the book asked. He followed every step down to the letter, every drop of ink. And it didn't fucking work. 

He didn't kill his protagonist for nothing. He needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs it to _work._ He'll do it, he'll figure it out, he'll get it to go. He'll get the cat to come back and he'll get Tommy to come back and he'll get out, even if he has to tear through the obsidian with his bare hands.

He feels wet on his cheeks, he hears it drip onto cold fur. He's furious. He's furious. 

"WORK!" he screams, and it listens.

There's no poof of smoke or swirl of magic. No glowing bodies, no floating corpses, no showy tricks.

But there _is_ soft, shaking paws. They bat at his face, at his tears. Tender, haunted eyes bore into his.

"Oh," he murmurs, wiping at his eyes. He stares at the saltwater on his fingers as it turns mixes with red and turns polite pink, then looks up at the living, breathing cat with its front legs on his and head tilted worriedly. "Oh."

The cat meows gently, butting his hand. It has been through so much for just a little cat, so much. It bumps against his fingers again.

Longing for his kindness, his warm attention. The quiet compliments and pets from before the light faded from its eyes.

The sweet Dream who gave it his food, who showered it in affection.

He swipes an arm through the air, flinging it across the room. It screams death's scream as its tiny body is thrown to the starving lava and Dream watches it squeal and screech and burn away.

That Dream is dead. He died a very, very long time ago. The cat is living in the past.

Well... lived.

But he did it. He brought it back, he cracked the code. After so many attempts, he did it. _Tears._ Regret, remorse, grief - whatever. _Pain_.

Dream turns his eyes to the mangled body of TommyInnit.

Broken and beaten and bruised and bloody, he's not touched it. Not even to brush blonde hair out of gray eyes ~~_(they were blue once. They aren't anymore)_~~. Too afraid he'd mess something up, that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his promise.

He feels a smile stretch across his face. He grins, and he grins like a madman.

"Tommmmmy," he crows. "Ready for another round?"

The corpse is silent. Of course it is. It's dead! But Dream can fix that, yes.

"Oh, I sound like Wilbur," Dream whispers. " _Wilbur!_ Oh, I'll get him, next!" He claps his hands, his eyes light up like a storm - a dangerous one. A _very_ dangerous one. "And Schlatt, too, bring them all back, why don't we? Bring them all back!"

He doesn't need to draw still blood, no need to cut Tommy's pale skin on the glazed shards of his mask; the crimson already stains his hands. He draws a new circle - a big one.

Dream slams his fist into the wall. He hears a sick crunch and gasps, fire shooting up his arm. He laughs, he _laughs_. Tears pools from his eyes and he lets them fall onto limp blonde hair and he feels victory surge through his veins and fucking hell, his hand hurts like the devil, but he knows Tommy's eyes will flutter open and he knows Tommy will scream loud enough to be heard all the way from here to the Arctic.

Nevermind that- he did it. He's done it. He can bring people back.

He's a god.

He's a god, he's a _god._ He can bring people back to life! Nobody else can do that. An admin is nothing compared to a _god_. He's- he's the most powerful person on the server.

He brought the cat back. He brought _Tommy_ back! 

He brought Tommy back, and yet Tommy doesn't open his eyes.

"Go on," Dream mutters, kicking at the boy. "Get up."

Tommy doesn't move, he doesn't respond, doesn't shout curses or scream or swear. Dream frowns.

He leans down, studies the body. He grabs a cold hand and he holds his fingers to the wrist, checking.

No pulse.

It didn't work.

Dream sits back. _Why didn't it work?_ "Why didn't it work?" he echoes aloud. "Can I not- why didn't it go? Why didn't it work?"

He wishes he hadn't killed his only company. Dull green eyes stare at the lava, at the molten bubbles. At the swirling heat that had mercilessly swallowed up the cat - Pussboy, he reminds himself bitterly - and Dream sits down and he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And Tommy stays dead.

  
  
Is this the afterlife?

It can't be. Tommy was there - he saw it. The afterlife is blank. It's a void, it's all light. This place is dark.

It's empty, too. No warm brown eyes, no surprised yellow. Wilbur is not waiting with open arms and a gaping wound, and Schlatt is not staring at him with cold shock and pale skin.

This place is not death. Tommy's seen death. 

What is it then? If it's not death, what is it?

He opens his eyes.

It's not dark, he notes first. It's red. Very red. His first thought is blood, but it's very much not blood. He turns around, trying to find a hint of color - any color, any color but red - and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

There's a piglin there - a baby piglin is glaring at him. It has downy fur and no tusks or sword or crossbow. It's a child, barely days old.

"Hello?" Tommy tries, but it comes out odd. He looks around and he looks down at himself and all at once, he realises a few small things about his appearance, and then he realises one big thing. _The_ big thing.

He isn't human.

He has hooves on his hands and feet, his ears are on the top of his head. A tail lays behind him and his skin is covered in soft, orange-ish pink fluff. Just like the piglin next to him.

He doesn't scream. He wants to, but he doesn't. He simply shuts his eyes and covers his mouth.

_Ok, Wilbur, I'll play fuckin'- I'll play cards with you, just get me out of here. Get me out of here._

He could almost swear he hears his brother laughing at him.

Tommy opens his eyes- he's still here, in hell, with a piglin.

It squeaks at him. Tommy shuts his eyes again, so it _squeaks_ again.

When Tommy doesn't respond, it hits him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Tommy screeches- every blow feels like he's reliving his own death. His voice comes out a garbled piglin mess - is his throat not equipped for English? "Stoppit!

He feels the ground vanish from under his feet and he feels a brief panic surge through him - what a way to go, huh? Well, what a run. A short run, but a run regardless. Time, Tommy thinks, to go back to the white place, the Zone, because a baby piglin beat him to death. That's a couple steps down from Dream beating him to death, probably, and a couple steps up from dying to a baby zombie, _Phil._

~~_(When Phil dies, will he come to the Zone, with us?)_~~

But Tommy's not even there himself, he realises, because he still feels the warm of the Nether on his face.

When he opens his eyes, Wilbur is not there, waiting. The piglin child is. He still sees red and he still sees the piglin child. He still _is_ a piglin child. He's alive. He's not going back to the white. 

Suddenly, Tommy can breathe again.

He finally looks up. He's dangling by the scruff, and there's a big piglin holding him with hooves like his. An adult piglin with blank white eyes. He can't tell if they're full of affection or scorn, but he doesn't want to find out.

_And that must be mother!_ Tommy hears a voice mock. 

"Shut up, Wil," he grumbles. The baby piglin crosses its arms as Tommy is lifted out of reach.

The adult piglin growls at him, sniffs at his head. Like she's making sure he's not dead. It kicks at the violent little baby, a warning, then places Tommy down again.

Tommy would flip the other child off, but he only has three fingers.

_Don't be so mean, Tommy!_ Wilbur chastises, his voice echoing through Tommy's mind like Chat did. _That's your brother!_

"It's _not_ my brother," Tommy spits.

_He,_ Wilbur corrects.

Tommy growls. The big piglin growls back.

Tommy shuts his mouth.

"Wil, the hell is going on?" he decides to ask instead. The other two tilt their heads in confusion as he mutters what must be gibberish to them - and it sounds like gibberish to himself, really. But Wilbur seems to understand.

_I mean, hell if I know,_ Wilbur's voice seems to move around, standing by his left now. Tommy glances over, but there's nobody there. Just his - he gags - _brother,_ the piglin. _Looks like you got reincarnated._

"Reincarnated? That's when you throw food back up, innit?"

_That's regurgitated, Tommy. It's when you die and then are born again._

The big piglin stands up and oinks at them. Tommy know, deep down in his little piglin brain, that she wants him and the other to follow. She leads them through the underbrush as Tommy continues muttering to his _real_ brother, the one who has taken the place of his old chorus.

"I'm a piglin," Tommy huffs as he stumbles through the roots. He takes pride in knowing he's not the only idiot, as the other baby pig trips and falls, too - neither of them are used to walking. _Especially_ not on hooves.

_You are a piglin,_ Wilbur's voice confirms. Tommy sighs.

"Like Technoblade," he says. "I'm a piglin, like Technoblade."

Wilbur pauses to think. _Yes, that sounds about right._

"Did Techno die too? Was he a human once?"

_I'm not omnipotent, Tommy. I don't know Technoblade's life story._

"Oh."

I _don't think he's the same as you, though. Technoblade is really tall, and he has a mane. You don't have a mane. Nor does your mother._

"Think he's one of those axe pigs? In the bastions?" 

_A brute? Yes. He's a brute, I think._

"Damn right 'e is," Tommy growls. "Nasty fuck. Prick."

_No, no, Tommy. A bastion piglin is called a piglin brute. Technoblade is_ literally _a brute._

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tommy stares at the ceiling, blankly. Part of him worries a stalactite will come barreling down to crush him. "Life as a piglin is boring. I would like to come back to the DreamSMP."

Wilbur laughs. Tommy snorts, too- what a joke. _Wanting_ to go back. But it's true. He misses it. He missed it in exile and he missed it while imprisoned. He misses it now.

_No, no, this is interesting,_ Wilbur says. _I'm stuck here with you, anyway. Even if I wan't to, I can't take you back. I don't want to though, I'm having fun._

"It's boring, is what it is!" Tommy drawls. "You're only having fun cos you get to watch, Disembodied-Voicebur!"

Big Piglin guides them to a nook- a small Netherrack cave yawning out from under a sheer cliff. She sniffs at their heads again as they follow her into the cavern, making sure they didn't up and zombify on the journey. When she's sure they're still alive, she grunts at them. _Sleep time. You're young, so you need to sleep._

She lays almost like an Overworld pig, Tommy notes. 

_You'll probably never see Overworld mobs ever again._

It's not Wilbur's voice, it's his own. A quiet thought, a thought _he_ made, and it shakes Tommy to his core.

Wilbur sighs, his voice practically drips with apprehension. _Don't- don't lose hope, Tommy. Technoblade, remember? He got to the Overworld. You... you can do it too._

Tommy's piglin brother lays down, too. More humanlike than their mother, but still not quite human enough to comfort Tommy.

But regardless, he copies.

_Goodnight, Tommy._

"Goodnight, Wilbur. It's.. good to have you back. I think."

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Tommy shuts his eyes. Sleep doesn't come easy as it should for a baby piglin, but he's not surprised - he's not really a baby piglin. He's TommyInnit in the form of a baby piglin.

He's an imposter - at least, he definitely feels like one.

When his eyelids finally grow too heavy and the sironsong of sleep finally lures him off the side of the ship, he dreams. He dreams of dark cells and a smiling mask.

And in that dark cell, Dream glares at it - the mask. He avoids the empty eyes of the body in the corner. He knows they're still empty, despite his efforts. His best efforts. He's so drained. So tired.

He hears potatoes splash into the water in the corner, turns to watch them bob. Sam has remembered that he is in there.

Dream drags himself to the water, tilts his head to glare up into the darkness. "Why not fucking kill me?!" he screams up the tunnel. "Why not just kill me, Sam? I killed _him_."

Sam does not respond.

"You can't, can you? You want my help. My _book._ "

Sam does not respond.

Dream snarls and throws the spuds at the lava, they burn like his cat did. He hears a sigh echo from above him, but no more food falls. 

"Don't starve yourself," Sam growls. "I'll bring more tomorrow."

Dream does not respond.

He turns to Tommy's body and despite it all, he keeps trying. He keeps trying.  
  
Tommy does not respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna speedrun this one, chat
> 
> next update wednesday or thursday


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor character death  
> next chapter uhhh probably monday or tuesday?

Life as a piglin isn't so bad. Tommy decided that a week or so ago.

He wakes up in their little cave. Tommy's brother will headbutt him until he gets up and plays - they chase each other around the netherrack. Sometime later the big piglin, their mother, cracks open her eyes with a tired rumble. It feels so childish, _Tommy_ feels so childish, playing games with his brother while he knows that bad things are happening in the Overworld, in his home - that he messes around with a dumb piglin friend while Tubbo and Quackity and Sam Nook and Techno and the DreamSMP have to deal with _his_ mess, _his_ rivalry, _his_ death.

Then his brother barrels into him, and he feels Dream's phantom fist in his face, and he gets up, and he runs faster. 

Their mother watches with approval.

That's what she does when they play - she watches. She doesn't move, not even when Tommy is thrown too far and doesn't get up for a moment _(not again not again not again I'm not going back there I don't want to die)._ Then she will leave them there, alone in a big red cave, and she will come back a few hours later with food. She'll watch, watch them eat, then watch them play, and then it's time to sleep and she will watch them sleep always standing guard, protecting.

Sometimes she takes them out into the forest, like the day Tommy woke up. They stick close to her side when she does.

It's not rare that, when she came back to them, she'd be bleeding. They know it's from the hoglins - Tommy remembers the bruises they left across his human body. Their mother always tried to hide the blood from their eyes, but they had seen it before. He was torn - part of himself chastises, _a soldier never flinches at blood,_ and the other is yelling, screaming for mercy, but Dream never showed him mercy. Never.

His brother was equally as desensitized, but that's how it was as a Nether mob. Even a baby like him has seen horrors here.

Their mother brings back hoglin meat and leather and she sharpens her golden sword on a beastly tusk. It makes Tommy feel ever so slightly sick - the hoglins look like piglin brutes and Technoblade is a piglin brute and always, always the worry bubbles up that somehow, _somehow_ Techno was killed. That Tommy will arrive in a very different DreamSMP than he knew, one with more spirits and less living, breathing bodies.

Mama piglin will notice him staring at his food oh-so-blankly. She'll nudge him with silent eyes. He shakes his head and he ignores his worst thoughts and he eats. It's usually raw and tough and chewy, but it's good. When they have a stroke of luck and hoglins step too close to lava or fire, they eat cooked pork. Very rarely does the piglin mother give them rotten flesh to eat and Tommy is glad, but god if he can't help but miss the carrots he was used to in the SMP, or the sweeter golden carrots Techno always gave him, or even the dusty potatoes of Pogtopia.

That's how it always was. He would let himself enjoy something, and then his brain would remind him of what he's seen and done and suffered, of what's waiting for him when he finally finds a way home.

(He wishes this could be home, but he was never meant for safety, he thinks. He has to go back.)

Wilbur always goes quiet when he declares that he will make it back to the DreamSMP, and yet he always whispers _"_ _I'm sorry, Tommy_ _"_ when the once-human boy goes still, lost in thought, in reminiscence - when he misses what he had what feels like eons ago, but enjoys what he has now, here, in a red cave in a red forest in a red world, when he thinks it doesn't feel right, to miss a metaphorical hell but enjoy life here, in literal hell. Wilbur apologizes.

Tommy knows he's lucky. He's never been lucky before, but right now he's lucky, because- because his guardian is kind and skilled and strong. He's seen other piglins die; he's watch her kill them. And still she always brings them food, still they live as well as the Nether allows and it's all thanks to her strength. Without her, Tommy would be dead, and he knows it.

He's so very very lucky and yet he still misses his last life.

So Wilbur apologizes. Tommy doesn't know why, but part of him whispers _If he hadn't come to the DreamSMP, you would still have every life. It's his fault. Of course he's apologizing._ He decides that he'll never let Wilbur hear that voice

Tommy likes Wilbur now. He liked L'manburgian Wilbur and he hated Pogtopian Wilbur and he likes Ghost Wilbur and he hated Death Zone Wilbur and he likes Nether Wilbur.

Of course, he was nervous - nervous that Wilbur would go mad again, that he would put that final nail in the coffin, that Tommy would be stuck with the ghost of everything bad in Pogtopia murmuring into his ear. But Wilbur didn't - he hasn't. He's as sane as he was when they laughed together, when life was kind. Wilburs leaves when Tommy asks him to go, Wilbur jokes and he laughs and his voice is always fond now. Tommy can trust him, finally. He trusts here, somehow - despite everything, he trusts. He trusts his new mother and his new brother he trusts Wilbur. He trusts him more than he did by his right hand in a revolution built on drugs and blackstone walls, far more than he ever did as a bystander to madness in a desperate hideout, a ravine.

Wilbur Soot has been there always, through everything, but only now does Tommy trust him. Only now does Wilbur act like family does, like a brother should. 

_(Are they family now? Tommy hopes they are.)_

One day he'll ask what happened in those long years Wilbur spent dead. How had he changed so much? But for now, he'll let Wilbur keep his secrets; he doesn't want this to be ruined.

But no matter. Tommy is grateful and he finally, finally trusts Wilbur.

Where is Wil, anyway?

Tommy lets his eyes flutter open. He glances up at the warm red roof. He's curled in on himself - he'd been ready to sleep. He waits for a quiet _Tommy?_ or a groan from the voice in his ears, but Wilbur's gone, he's silent. Probably asleep. (Can you even sleep in the Afterlife? Tommy hadn't tried.)

He looks back down, eyes scanning the cave. 

His piglin brother is snoring softly to his right, dead to the world like Technoblade always was when he slept. Tommy thinks about Techno a lot, thinks about how Techno must have done this, too; survived the Nether. He looks at his hoofed hands and he thinks of his old friend.

He's distracted again. Tommy shakes his head and turns to his left.

Mama piglin is laying there, in her spot, watching Tommy and his piglin brother. Her eyes never leave them as she licks a small, bloody gash on her shoulder, cleaning it almost like a cat. Tommy stares at the red as it drips down and stains her soft fur, and he only blinks when she presses hoglin hide to it, soaking up the rest of the crimson, waiting for it to scab. Her eyes are on him purely now, curious.

Tommy moves to lay his head back on the ground. He and his piglin brother sleep on a little patch of soft soul soil, his mother by the entrance but just out of sight of the outside. Wilbur's voice always comes from the right of him, by where the other piglin sleeps. It's cozy; it's nice.

She tilts her head as he shifts, squeaking at him. He still can't quite talk like them - he's got a piglin's body and his human memories and thoughts and those memories and thoughts are wired for English. But he understands what _she_ says.

_"Are you ok?"_

Tommy grumbles back. She gets up and sniffs at his head, like she always does. Checking that he's ok. 

"I fuckin'- I miss my home," he tells her. His English is improving, and he's excited to use it on a person, a player. But for now, he uses it at a piglin; a piglin who doesn't understand. She's used to it by now, her odd son. She's used to his odd speaking and his odd movement and his odd thinking and she still protects him with her life. Still, it's typically tough love, with her. She would sacrifice herself for them, yes, but she so rarely lets them curl up to her.

Right now, though? She lays her head by Tommy's, puffing air at him and quietly murmuring comfort.

"I miss the _fuckin'_ SMP. I want to go back home, but I like it here with you, too. I don't know what I'm gonna fuckin' do."

She licks at his face with a worried warble. It's just a low grunt, and yet Tommy still understands.

_"Sleep. Sleep! Worry is not good for piglets. Worry is not good for you!"_

Tommy closes his eyes. "Ok. Ok, I'll- I'll sleep. On it. I'll sleep on it. Goodnight, piglin mother. Goodnight."

He hears her get up to go back to her spot, and while she doesn't understand his _words_ , she understands his point.

She rumbles, almost purrs as she goes back to watching.

Tommy could practically hear her voice wish him _"sweet dreams."_

  
  
It's been two weeks since Tommy woke up with hooves; seventeen days, sixteen nights. He takes his mother's sword and cuts nicks in the wall for every day. 

Piglins are odd mothers. More protective than anything Tommy's ever seen, and yet so relaxed about when their piglets live or die, whether they're safe or hurt.

Mama Piglin (as Wilbur has dubbed her) watches with an eagle's eye, but she lets him use the sword with little protest.

It's hard to count the days in the Nether. There's no sun to wake him up, and there's no moon to tell him to sleep. There's only his piglin brother to shake his shoulder, _w_ _ake up, come play!_ and his piglin mother to croak at him, _time for sleep._ Wilbur has been telling him when an Overworld day is over and when an Overworld day has started.

Tommy will never admit it, but Wilbur has been his savior, his anchor in this red world. Someone who speaks like him and thinks like him and knows how he speaks and knows how he thinks. Wil's mellowed out, half the madness he had when he died, and he instructs and guides Tommy and god, most importantly, he keeps Tommy _company._

And right now, Wilbur is keeping too much company.

_I don't see why you want to go back._ Wilbur grumbles. _It's nice here. Just stay a Nether piglin, Tommy. You have Mama Piglin to keep you safe and Brother Piglin to play with. What's the DreamSMP got?_

They're following Mama Piglin through the brush. Tommy fidgets with a red tendril he'd nicked hanging from a small tree while Wilbur's voice saves him from sheer boredom. "Well, it's got Tubbo," Tommy grumbles.

Wilbur sighs. His voice comes from somewhere behind Tommy. _Didn't Tubbo exile you?_

"Lads on tour, lads on tour," Tommy hums instead, staring at the ground. _I'm not heavy enough to leave hoof tracks,_ he notes quietly. "Do you remember being Ghostbur, Wil?"  
_You changed the subject, but yes. I still_ am _Ghostbur_ _,_ Wilbur mutters. _How do you think I know when it's been a day?_

"I dunno. Thought you like, counted."

_Counted the seconds in a day?_

"Seems like a you thing."

Mama Piglin pauses and Tommy nearly runs into her. She chirps quietly at him and Little Piglin as he appears on Tommy's left, then turns around.

_"Stay,"_ she's saying, Tommy decides. He sits. The other piglin glances at him and then copies. When she nods approvingly, Tommy sticks his tongue out at his brother.

_Don't be rude, Tommy,_ Wilbur scolds as the piglin's ears flatten.

"'e's a prick."

_So are you._

"Wh- hey!"

_Watch Mama Piglin,_ Wilbur interrupts suddenly. His voice is rapt with excitement. _She's gonna try and kill that hoglin._

Tommy glances around, intrigued. He catches the other piglin staring into the trees after their mother, so he follows its gaze. The big piglin is, in fact, creeping up on a grazing hoglin, golden sword unsheathed and held at her side. It's an awful beast, chewing on the red grass, facing away from Mama Piglin (Tommy and his brother, hiding in the thicket.)

"Nononono, wait." Tommy whips his head around, trying to peer through the trees aroudn them. "Wait, she's gonna get herself _killed_ , Wilbur. Wilbur, Wilbur- Wilbur, don't hoglins come in groups?"

Wilbur is silent. Tommy is alone with his thoughts - his worries. "No, mama piglin! You're gonna die!" he screams in his painfully inhuman scream. 

She glances over. Almost if understanding, her eyes are wide. Confused, almost fearful. She grumbles lowly, asking " _Danger?"_

The baby piglin beside him has wide eyes, as if he understood his English.

"Yes! Danger! Mama piglin, lots of danger! Lots of fuckin' danger!"

_Tommy, shut up!_ Wilbur spits, almost frantic. _Shut the fuck up! You're gonna alert the hog!_

Too late.

The hoglin looks up as Tommy shuts his mouth, eyes wide. Mama piglin starts backing up slow, slowly. The hoglin looks around, searching for the source of the noise, and it locks eyes with her.

Her ears fall flat.

_Oh, fuck._ Wilbur whispers.

The hoglin rears with a bloodcurdling roar, slamming its front hooves into the ground. Tommy can't feel his legs; he's stapled to the ground, forced to watch the horrible swine as it grunts, as it charges.

The other baby piglin squeals as the hoglin slams its tusks into their mother - the impact sends her flying. The other child smacks at Tommy frantically - _"_ _GO! GO!_ _"_ -and runs _towards_ the hoglin.

"NO! NONONONONO! NO, COME BACK! YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! YOU'LL DIE! _NO_!" Tommy screams, pain lighting his throat ablaze. 

Wilbur is deathly silent in his ears, but Tommy can hear his shaky breaths. 

The hoglin roars as Tommy's piglin brother stumbles through the red grass. Tommy and Wilbur both know what awaits him there.

Tommy hears the thud of more hooves, and yet he still can't move. He feels panic shoot through every one of his veins like snow slush under wheels and he can't _move_. He feels like he's sitting beside himself, watching his hooves shake. They're alien to him - part of him knows that even if they were skin, not fur, he still wouldn't recognize them.

Wilbur's voice finally, finally cuts through the fuzziness.

**_THESEUS, RUN!_**

Tommy looks up. Soon there will be blood staining long hoglin tusks. Three more have arrived. His brother is screaming, and Tommy is broken out of his stupor as he feels himself get scruffed.

His mother - she's grabbed him, tugging him away. Her eyes shine with something distant, familiar.

It's grief.

They're leaving the other child behind.

"No, we can't!" Tommy shrieks. "No! Mama, we have to go back! We have to go get him!"

Deep down, he knows his piglin brother is already dead, crushed under dirty hog hooves. That doesn't stop him from sobbing as his mother holds him close, afraid to loosen her grip lest she lose a second son.

"Wilbur!" Tommy's voice shakes. "Wilbur! Wilbur?"

He's silent, and so is Tommy's piglin brother. There are no more heartwrenching screams, only sick silence. Tommy still feels the fear rushing through him as his mother runs, and Tommy knows if water could exist here, he would be crying harder than he had in a very long time.

_Dry your tears. Soldiers don't cry._

_( ~~But he's not a soldier here, he's just a child. He's always been just a child~~_.)

The cavern he's come to see as his home feels so fucking empty without his brother, and his ears feel so blank without Wilbur's voice, his gentle humming. Tommy hopes that he'd taken the piglin child to the afterlife, and he hopes even more that Wilbur will come back, that he won't be trapped in the dead zone. That he won't leave Tommy alone, so terribly fucking alone.

  
His mother doesn't place him in his spot on the soul soil today. She instead grabs him and draws him to lay by her side, and she's shaking. God, she's shaking like a leaf. She swallows her sadness down, lifts her head to shake away her pain and Tommy watches her in horror as she turns to him and she puts her effort into comforting _him._ Sniffing at his head as she always does, making sure he's still alive and well. Holding him close, so nothing will harm him. Reassuring him, reassuring herself. It.. it's nice, Tommy decides. If he has to be a baby piglin, he has a good mother, at least.

"Mama piglin?" he murmurs. 

She doesn't respond. 

He looks to his right, where his brothers used to sleep - both of them. His piglin brother and his human one - they always sat to his right. Whether soft fur or a quiet voice, they were always at his right.

"Wilbur?"

He doesn't respond.

Tommy sighs and lets his head fall. "Goodnight, mama piglin. Goodnight, Wilbur. Goodnight, Nether." His voice breaks.

"Goodnight, brother piglin."

  
When he dreams today, it's so much more real. So much more horrifyingly real.

He's back in the prison. His own body lays in a shaky ring of blood, looking broken as it felt to live in it. Dream is sitting against the wall, head tucked behind his knees, hidden behind his arms. He's not wearing his mask, and his knuckles bleed. Red stains the wall above his head as well. Tommy winces as it trickles down, into greasy blonde hair.

Funny. Even after dying, after being reborn as a stupid little pig, Dream still haunts his - well, _dreams._ Fitting. Tommy could almost laugh at the irony, but he doesn't. Tommy doesn't move at all, actually. He's standing in front of the lava, stock still. He doesn't think he could move if he wanted to; he feels like his feet are glued to the ground. He looks down, as though to check.

He takes a sharp breath. His eyes shoot up immediately, waiting for Dream to whip around and smile at him, waiting for the haunting "Tommy, welcome back!"

But no matter how long Tommy holds his breath, Dream doesn't react. 

Tommy looks down again.

He doesn't have the little hooves he's used to, no soft fur. He notices now that there's no tail following him, and he's taller than he should be. Way taller.

He's _human_.

_He's a ghost._

Tommy shakes his head. His hair flops around like his ears used to, and he hates it. Somehow, _somehow_ , he _misses_ being a piglin. There's no more fluff to cover up the bruises on his skin, and it's bittersweet. He doesn't like this.

The splash of water echoes in his ears. He glances up. Food is falling into the water pool at the edge of the cell. They're not raw potatoes, they're carrots.

"Hello, Sam," Dream murmurs, lifting his head out from behind his arms. "I still won't help you."

Immediately, Tommy knows he's missing something. He's an eavesdropper, listening to an old conversation he's new to.

Sam sighs. "It's not a _bribe_. I ran out of potatoes."

"You didn't."

"I did."

Silence stretches out before Dream yawns. He doesn't move to grab the food, just stares. "You ever gonna come get this?" he says, nodding at the body.

"They're for you."

"Not the carrots. Tommy."

Tommy jolts as Dream says his name, a spike of frantic anxiety, but Dream is glaring at his corpse. Not him, not his apparition, not his face.

"Dream," Tommy calls. Against all his better judgement - he has to know. "Dream?"

No piercing green gaze turns to bore into gray eyes. Feeling returns to Tommy's legs. Shakily, shakily, he creeps forward. 

"Dream?"

He nudges his former cellmate - his hand passes through. But Dream jumps and looks around and Tommy's heart _drops_. Dream's eyes don't find him. He raises an eyebrow, turns away. Tommy sighs. He's safe. Dream can't touch him.

Dream is back to glaring at the carrots. "Sam?"

"Dream."

"So? Are you gonna come take his body, or..?"

"I-"

_What are you doing, Theseus?_

He nearly jumps out of his skin, Tommy's so startled. _"Wilbur?"_

_Tommy!_ A grey hand pokes out from the wall. Ghostbur. _You're not meant to be here, Tommy. Come with me! Dream can see me, we should go._

Tommy casts one last weary look at Dream, then he sighs and he shuts his eyes and he takes Wilbur's hand. Wilbur tugs.  
  


When Tommy opens his eyes, his hands are hoofed and he sees red again. The red is comforting. Red has never been comforting before.

"Wilbur?"

_Tommy! Good morning._

"I dreamt about you. And Dream. And Sam."

A pause. _Oh,_ Tommy _._

"I was- I was afraid," he whispers. He doesn't want to wake Mama Piglin, he really doesn't. "I was afraid Dream would see me, so _fuckin'_ afraid."

_Ignore it, Tommy._ Wilbur's voice echoes in his ears. _You weren't meant to see th- you're not meant to have nightmares here, it's safe. No Dream here. Ignore it._ _It'll only upset you. Ignore it. Go back to sleep._

"..okay," Tommy murmurs. "Ok, Wil."

...

"Wilbur?"

_Theseus?_

"Will you- nevermind."

_No, it's ok. What is it?_

"Uh- why don't you sing? I haven't heard you sing in awhile."

There's a moment of silence. _Do y- do you want me to sing to you?_

"No- no, I'm-"

_Awww, Tommy! I'll sing to you, it's ok! Tommy!_

Tommy grumbles, but Wilbur's voice drifts around, soft and sweet as ever. He can almost forget the thunder of hooves, the bubble of lava, the roar of explosives - all of it, he could almost forget as Wilbur hums.

Almost.

But when Tommy's eyes flutter closed and his breath evens out, Wilbur Soot frowns. 

  
Somewhere across the map, there's a portal. Through that portal is a stone black room and stone black creeper eyes and a stone black cell and in that stone black cell, Dream could've sworn he felt a hand on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw!  
> i have a TUMBLR of the same name (atlasfreak) and a twitter called Atlasfreaked!  
> I make posts when I update or upload a fic, but I'll reblog other things and answer asks on my tumblr :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after, Wilbur and Tommy decide to go outside.
> 
> Without telling Mama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i dropped smth oh its a kudo oh im you pls give me kudos its like money to a capitalist give me kudos please
> 
> leave comments also! i respond to EVERY SINGLE ONE, and i FUCKIN' LOVE GETTIN' THEM

Tommy spends the next day on high alert.

They don't leave the cave, to Wilbur's annoyance; _Come on, it'll help things. You- you always took walks when you were upset back before exile, didn't you?_ His voice floats around distantly - as though he wasn't really back at Tommy's side yet - but Tommy can hear him well enough to be pissed. 

"We're not going _outside_ , Wil. We went out fucking _yesterday_ \- less than a day ago! And someone fucking _died._ We stay in here. I wouldn't be allowed to go, anyway."

 _Fine. Fine. But we_ should _head outside. I have t- I'm rather bored._

"Wilbur, I swear to Philza _fuckin'_ Minecraft-"

Truth is, Tommy _did_ want to go out - he wanted to roam the red fields and forests, counting shroomlights and watching zombified piglins growl at each other. He can't stand it, being cooped up in a cave too empty, space next to him too cold. 

But it'll be a long, long while yet before his piglin mother even _considers_ letting him leave the safe sanctuary of the cave.

Speaking of - she's curled in on herself, watching him with a hawk's eye, red from tough Nether tears; tears sapped of all water, tears leaving saline stains along her cheeks. All day she's been torn between getting lost in her awful, awful grief and caring for him, watching over him, protecting him. If not for Tommy, she'd probably sleep the day away in her pain. So Tommy spends the afternoon in the red red cave, trying to entertain his guests and keep his mother from mourning... _too_ heavily. Right now, that means running all around and jumping over her and over the soul soil patch and over the edge of the far side of the cave, where it leads down into a second one.

He's trying, anyway. Wilbur isn't making this any easier. At all.

He sounds in Tommy's left ear. _Tommy, if I scout ahead do you-_ and then he's too quiet for Tommy to hear, _-forest? How about that?_

"You cut out, Wil," Tommy murmurs, crouching down and bunching his haunches to jump. Mama piglin sprawls out, giving him less of a challenge. 

_What? You're not just trying to get me to shut up, are you?_ Wilbur pauses, _I'm- I'm cutting out?_

"I dunno. You just sound really far away."

_I- how long have I sounded far away for?_

"A day or so," Tommy mumbles, springing up and landing on all fours on the netherrack behind his mother. She purrs and he feels her tail whip his arm as it wags. Approval. "Ever since you left."

_Left?_

"To go take brother piglin to the dead zone, right?" Tommy asks. "You know. You went silent. And you were back when I woke up."

_Oh! Oh, yes. Yes, I took the piglin to the - how do you call it? The Death Zone, so you could be reunite when_ you _die, Tommy. Lemme tell you, he did_ not _want to leave you guys alone._

"Oh. He's safe then?"

_Yes. He's safe - he's with a friend._

The former blonde laughs. "A friend? Yeah, he'll either love or hate Mexican Dream, I think."

_Oh, he loved Mexican Dream_ , Wilbur smiles. _Very entertaining fellow, M.D._

Wilbur's voice grows no louder, no closer as they talk; still it sounds far off, distant. Tommy brushes it off and glances to his side. Mama piglin is laying over on her side now, eyes closed.

Tommy rumbles gently at her. Wilbur pauses in what he's saying to stare as Tommy goes to lay beside her -she deserves rest.

_Is your mother asleep?_ Wilbur asks quietly, as if she could hear him.

"Yes," Tommy whispers. "She would've growled back otherwise, even if she's sad."

_Good. Come on, let's go._

Tommy glances over, like he'll find Wilbur; like Wilbur will be standing beside him. "What?"

_Let's go. Y'know, outside. Come on, Toms, we're going to the forest._

Tommy feels panic flare up in his stomach. "No _,_ nonononono, _no_. I'm not just _leaving_ her, Wilbur!"

_We'll come back, don't worry,_ Wilbur insists. _I'll make sure you don't get jumped. Come on. We need to find- I need to show you something._

Tommy hesitates. He's not.. _sure_ about this. About following Wilbur again. Trust only goes so far when you're TommyInnit, post death. 

He voices his hesitation.

_Theseus fuckin' Innit, I won't let anything happen to you out there,_ Wilbur declares. _Come on. I'll protect you._

"How're you gonna 'protect me' if you're a fucking _voice_?"

_I'll spec. I'll warn you and scout- it's called ghosting for a reason. It's ok, Toms. I have your back._

"You're sure," Tommy mumbles, casting one last look at his mother. "And nothing- nothing bad will happen?"

_Nothing bad will happen. I swear on my life- well. My death._

Tommy swallows and he weighs his options and he makes a decision.

He follows Wilbur's voice out of the cave.

Wilbur does keep his promise, though; whispering _Not there, there's a pack of piglins_ or _Watch out to the right, there's a hoglin over there_ whenever he senses movement. Tommy's head shoots up at every creak or murmur or whistle, jumpier than a chicken on Christmas Eve. Wilbur chuckles.

"Wil, where- where are we _going?"_

I _t's somewhere. I don't know exactly_.

"Wh- I thought you had a plan!" 

_I- I_ kinda _do, I don't bloody know!_

"Wilbur!" Tommy shouts, "Why'd you lead me out here if you didn't have a plan?"

_Keep your voice down. You don't wanna end up like m- mister piglin brother._

"Low ass fuckin' blow," Tommy snarls, but he lowers his volume. "If I die out here, Mama won't even find my body. The hogs will eat it. I don't wanna die again, Wil, I really, really don't."

_You won't die,_ Wilbur says, voice confident as a dying man - take that how you will. _If you die, I've failed. You won't die._

"You're so fuckin' weird," Tommy growls as they continue walking - just a little piglin and his disembodied voice of a brother, wandering through the brush. "You're so fuckin' weird today."

_Hey, Tommy - look. What's that?_ Wilbur suddenly asks. His voice is clearer, closer than it's been in hours. Tommy glances over. A little stream of lava falls from the Nether roof and spills across the netherrack floor. Two little red creations bathe in its fiery warmth.

"That's a strider, innit?" Tommy mutters. "You ride 'em cross lava."

_Tommy, go up to it,_ Wilbur whispers. _It's friendly._

"How'd' _you_ bloody know that it's _friendly_?" Tommy grumbles, but he approaches the lava anyway. The nearer strider turns at his footsteps - it sees his hooves one step too close to the heat and it rushes to knock him away at the same time that Wilbur screams _Not THAT close!_

The strider shivers when it drags itself out of the lava to stand with Tommy - it's young, and Tommy is taller just barely. He moves a hand up to pet it. "Wil, go look for little blue and orange mushrooms. I wanna take the strider home."

_I don't see_ _anything_ , Wilbur says after a moment, _but maybe it'll follow anyway._

The purple critter makes a noise akin to a fire crackling and Tommy plays with the frills on the side of its head. "Aw."

Tommy listens to the creak and chattering of his new friend and Wilbur is silent for a moment, then _We should keep going._

"We found a strider. We can just head back. No need for all this, it'll keep us entertained for awhile. Little pet strider! I'll name it Shitass." 

Wilbur sighs. _Awful name. I hate it. What's it gonna speedrun - death? No, and that's not the only reason I lead you out here. There's something else I want you to see._

"Not the only- you _wanted_ me to find a- you're so fuckin' sus today, I swear. Whatever." Tommy rubs his eyes with a groan. "Just _tell_ me what you're looking for. We'll go find it some fuckin- some other day."

_Fine._

Tommy blinks.

Then he falls to his knees. His head explodes with hundreds and thousands of voices, all screaming at him, all shrieking at him, all loud, too too loud, too fucking loud-

_Wilbur is sus! Aww, Wilbro! Can you name the strider after me? What the fuck is that? Can you say hi to my friend? You missed diamonds. You need blue fungi to lead a strider! Kill it for string. Boat with legs!_

Tommy clamps his hands over his ears. 

_Chat._

"Tommy."

He looks up.

Wilbur is _visible._

He's visible! Translucent, yes, but he's _there_ , sitting atop the strider, wearing the dirty old trenchcoat from Pogtopia, hair tangled and eyes gloomy. He points into the distance, across the Nether - the crimson forest ends in a cliff and leads into the wastelands. 

"There." he says. His voice is clear as ever - real, not just in Tommy's head. "Over there is a fortress with intact blaze spawners and unlooted chests. It's just over that crest."

"What?" Tommy manages through the mind-wrecking chorus in his ears. He doesn't see anything- no stormy red-black bricks anywhere in sight, just black fuzz creeping into his vision with every new voice, shattering his eardrums. "A- a fortress?"

"You have to learn to fight like this - as a piglin," Wilbur instructs. He tilts his head up. "And you need to get blaze rods. Then- then you can go back."

_Woah! DUDUDU! E. Dude just find the smp portal hub, 4head!.Go get them rods, you can take a blaze or two!_

Tommy whips around to stare at Wilbur. "I thought you didn't want me to go back."

"I don't," Wilbur sighs. "I really don't. But- but it's not as safe here as I thought it was. I.. you need to get back to the Overworld. Not the DreamSMP specifically, but the Overworld. So.. I'll help you. There's a fortress across the Wastelands, completely untouched. You can get blaze rods and maybe obsidian and gear from it."

Tommy is silent.

Wilbur hops down, but his hand never leaves the strider's head. "That's a long time from now. Prove to me that you can survive it, I'll take you there."

"Why are you so incitement that I can't die?" Tommy demands. "I'll respawn, won't I?"

"Insistent, not incitement," Wilbur corrects with a shake of his head. It's so odd - Tommy still isn't used to _seeing_ him. "You're a mob. You have one life and one life only and Tommy, _listen_ to me. You can't lose it. You can't lose that life. You can't die."

"Wilbur, you're scaring me."

Suddenly, chat is gone. Tommy peaks open his eyes, his head is still aching like a bitch.

Wilbur's gone, too. There's only open space where he had just stood, the strider blinks at him slowly. Must be confused, poor thing. There's no trace that Wilbur had ever been corporeal - just empty air.

_Good_ , Wilbur says; back to a lonely voice, back to being chat. _Good_.

Tommy swallows.

"Come- come on, Shitass," Tommy whispers after a moment. "Let's.. let's go home."

It's quieter than late nights in the van, quieter than the blanketing silence of L'manburg in chunk-error ruins. Wilbur doesn't speak, but Tommy can hear his breathing. It comforts him; Wilbur hasn't gotten tired of him, hasn't left him behind. The strider follows them without the encouragement of food, and Tommy is grateful. He doesn't want to have to search this place for a single speck of blue just to have a friend that's not a disembodied voice.

"Why don't you do that more often?" Tommy murmurs as they walk. He _still_ isn't heavy enough to leave tracks like his mother, Tommy notes.

_Do what?_

"Become.. real. Ghostbur."

_Other people can hear me, and see me. It's not safe._

"Chat gets really fuckin' loud when you do it," Tommy comments. "It hurts like hell. _You're_ chat, usually, but like... a moving chat. Like you're real, just not visible. When you became see-able, chat came back. Are you blocking them?"

_I should be more careful with that first bit,_ Wilbur hums. _But now I want to go ghost less. If it hurts you and there's no point to doing it, why should I?_

"Be more careful with w- wait, 'go ghost?'"

_It's a reference._

"What to?"

_This thing called Da-_

Tommy freezes. He feels ice sink through his veins, weighing down his legs. A new sound, a sound neither Wil nor Tommy have ever heard before - it echoes through the Nether, loud and piercing. It hits his ears with the force of a sledgehammer on a bell. The strider pauses and Wilbur shuts his mouth. It's almost like a scream, a cry, a call. A desperate one.

_**Shit.**_

"Mama! Mama, it's ok, it's ok!" Tommy can't describe his voice as anything other than frantic, _desperate_. "Mama, I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm safe!" he shrieks, running through the brush, stumbling over roots and thorns and bushes. The strider follows slowly. 

He tries to match her scream, tries to tip her off - _I'm right here, I'm right here!_ \- but he doesn't hear her come to him, doesn't see her relieved white eyes. Wilbur is in his ear, whispering warnings and observations and-

"I don't _care_ if there are hoglins, fucking- find her! Find her, you useless fucking ghost!" Tommy screams at Wilbur.

There's just a beat, a single heartbeat of stunned silence. Tommy pants, a mixture of exhaustion and fury trying its hardest to escape him. Wilbur's voice echoes in his mind as he whips around, looking desperately.

_If you go forward a bit, there's a cliffside. Below is a very tall tree, far left of the cave. She's standing beneath it._

Tommy runs. He runs faster than he ever had with hooves, maybe faster than he had with feet. His mother glances up as he scrabbles down the cliffside, slipping down jagged rock. He feels hot, wet pain run down his leg but he doesn't slow to check, just tumbles to the ground with a yelp. She shuts her mouth and scruffs him _immediately_ , sniffing his head and checking, reassuring herself, _please be alive please be alive please be alive_ despite the very real squirming and very alive "Mama, please calm down, please, I'm fine."

She collapses when she realises he's safe and fine and alive and she's not childless and she holds him close. 

If it were anyone else, Tommy would squeal and try to wiggle out, away, but it's his mother. He lets her hold him, forcing a purr. _See? I'm fine._

Wilbur's voice rings out, distant. _Tommy, what about the strider?_

Tommy doesn't respond. He just lays in his mother's arms, eyes closed.

_Nevermind, got it!_ Tommy turns around to see the strider hit the ground right in front of them with a distressed crackle and an _OW THAT MUST'VE HURT_ out of Wil.

His mother has it dead in seconds.

_GOD DAMMIT!_ Wilbur screeches. _I JUST GOT THAT B- I JUST GOT THAT DOWN!_

Tommy flattens his ears. His mother snarls as the strider falls apart in a cloud of smoke and dust and string. 

Wilbur sighs. Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Can't you just bring one back by yourself? You can- you can 'go ghost', you literally didn't need me."

There's no response. 

"Wilbur?"

Not even soft breathing. Tommy's tail falls limp. His mother hugs him closer, as if the lack of wagging meant he was about to drop dead, evaporate like the strider had.

Wil's gone. Tommy can only hope he's going to come back, like he did when his brother died.

Maybe Wilbur just doesn't like death. 

Tommy leans into his mother's soft fluff. 

"I'm sorry for leaving."

She huffs. 

"Please never - _fuckin'_ \- please never scream like that again."

Her response is a low snort. _You made me afraid. I was afraid. Never run away like that, and I will never scream,_ Tommy understands.

"Ok, Piglin Mama," Tommy murmurs. "Ok."

Wilbur runs his hands through his hair - real hair. Real, physical, human hair. Living hands, real hair. 

He's furious. He won't let it show.

"What's this?" He asks, calm and collected and cool. With a soft smile and curious eyes - he's used to playing a mellow role, an innocent role. "What've you done?"

Dream narrows his eyes. "Why now did it work? Why couldn't I bring you back before, Wilbur?"

Wilbur ignores him, instead digging through his trenchcoat pockets. "Oh, I still have my deck!" he chirps. "Wanna play solitaire?"

"Is it why I can't bring back Tommy?"

"Or are you more of a poker guy? What about war? That's easy enough for you, I think."

"Wilbur," Dream hisses. "Listen to me."

"We could play Uno - queen can be pick up two, king can be pick up four, joker can be skip! Or reverse-"

_"WILBUR!"_

Wil smiles. "Yes, Dream?"

"Why can't I ressurect Tommy?"

"Do you not like card games? I'm afraid I've only got cards." Dream stands and Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "Aw, do you really have to look up to make eye contact with me?"

"It's because you're wearing tall boots. I'm not wearing shoes," Dream insists. "Sam took them," he adds quietly.

"Sure it's the boots, Dream," Wil snickers. "Sure."

Dream blinks. "Don't distract me."

"I didn't do anything."

"Listen up, Wilbur Soot," Dream snarls. 

"Bit formal, what with the whole _full name_ bit, but I'm listening. I'm listening, go ahead, Dream." Wilbur tilts his head, _insufferably_ smug.

"You _will_ tell me how to revive Tommy - you'll tell me what you did, you'll stop _tampering_ \- or I will kill you. Do you hear me, Wilbur? Do you understand me? I will kill you."

Wilbur sorts through his deck, counting cards and yawning. Unimpressed.

"I will kill you and bring you back and kill you again. Over and over and over, as long as it takes. Every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year until. You. Spill. Your. Secrets. Now do you want to listen to me, and do it the easy, easy, easiest way, or d-"

"Actually, I'm a bit - little itty bitty bit, tiny bit - _tired_ of of this whole _living_ thing, love," Wilbur interrupts. Dream stutters as Wilbur runs past Dream, spins round to face him and fall back, arms spread like a bird and wearing a shit eating grin. Wilbur Soot _throws himself_ at _burning, starving lava_ with a silly salute and bright eyes.

"BYE, DREAM!"

The freckled man can't do anything but stare as Wilbur's face contorts in awful, horrible pain for just a moment, then gone. Fully, completely gone - nothing but a swirl of smoke. The scent of burnt flesh stains the air and Dream feels like he's going to vomit. A charred sleeve falls to the ground in front of him - embroidered patches display old flags.

Dream picks up the cloth.

Green and white and pink, blue and purple with a white... sun? And-

He clenches his hand around the scrap.

Half a black circle, a fine yellow border and a bold yellow x. A line of blue runs along the top, and red along the bottom, and white cuts through the center with two more crosses.

The flag of a fallen nation.

Dream holds the patch with shaking hands, fury racing through his veins like hot fire, the fire that ravaged fur and ravaged flesh. He lifts the chunk of fabric to the lava, flinching as the fire swallows it eagerly and licks at his skin with a flash of searing, searing pain. Tears prick at his eyes as he holds a scorched, damaged hand to his chest, breathing like sailer too close to the sea and its sirens. Dreams turns and he swipes the water off his face and he throws it to the ground, to the ring of red blood (his own, his own blood, his own horrible horrible red blood) and a single glove, a single fingerless glove taken from his own hands, a glove with just traces, traces, traces of a dead man, miniscule little skin cells, gloves he had borrowed long ago from hands stained gray with gunpowder, and he waits for the blood to lighten and glow and he waits for Wilbur to appear again with the same cold, cold eyes.

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Dream punches the wall. "STOP TAMPERING! STOP TAMPERING!"

He almost hears the mocking laughter.

_Then stop trying._

  
Far, far away, a small piglin opens his eyes. He's tucked against a bigger piglin, a sow who had never let him sleep beside her before.

There's a baby strider sleeping in front of him an a kind voice in his ears.

_Good morning, Tommy._

"Oh, Wilbur! Wil, you're back! Wil. Wil. Wil. Wil, where were you?"

_Off. Visited an old friend, brought a new one. Sorry about- about yesterday._

"It's ok, I think. And, by the way?"

_Hm?_

"Thank you, Wilbur."

_For the strider?_

"For... everything, really. Everything here."

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _...don't thank me yet._

**Author's Note:**

> quietly. i am going to speedrun this one boys


End file.
